Western Bulldogs star

With a hum of tension in the air, final ritualistic adjustments are made to footwear and uniform. Eyes have a certain steely focus, and the weeks of toil and grind suddenly evaporate. It all comes down to one final performance.

The performers huddle in the doorway, together and alone. This is what it's all about - the big dance.

My daughter Frankie's kinder ballet classes do not quite marry up with the AFL finals. Frankie and her twinkle-toed pals had their grand final on Wednesday morning. All year they have laughed, cried and jete'd their way (with Miss Anna) into a world of song and dance.

In a small hall in Melbourne's inner north, they have honed these new skills with the forbidden stage looming above them. As a reward for their patience and a symbolic finale to the year, their final dance would be on the biggest stage in their little worlds.

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One by one they ascended the steps to the rarefied air, a metre above a small but extremely excited group of parents, grandparents and siblings. The glare of spring sunshine and the bright flash of cameras unsettled a few, but they all performed beautifully when it mattered, and the glory of the day belonged to them.

Preliminary final weekend has been described as football heaven. The four best sides put it all on the line for a shot at immortality, or as Tim Rogers keeps telling us: ''A shot at greatness!'' Some of the greatest games of footy have taken place on preliminary final weekend, and I suspect that this week we may add one, and hopefully, two more to that list.

Having been on the wrong end in three preliminary finals, I can tell you there is plenty to lose. Losses at this time of year bite and can haunt the participants for a long time after the final siren sounds. For the winners, there's a chance to fulfil the prophecy of the lanky singer from You Am I. Playing in a premiership is mecca, the promised land. A premiership leaves a player with a tattoo not just on his warrior soul, but often on his ankle, too. It's a seat at the big table, a platform to look back with pity or arrogance on those other warriors who never won one.

It is the ultimate release of passion and emotion - to be in the moment, but also to recount that moment at the bar for the rest of your days. That's how I imagine it is, anyway. Lucky sods.

I really wanted this finals series to burst with colour, for the game to lift me to that special place, and though there have been some great moments and good games, it has not yet taken me away.

Watching from home last weekend as Geelong gained ascendancy over the Power from Port, I got up to turn the TV off and go to bed when my wife remarked that I never watched the end of games lately. It sat me down. I realised she was right. The only conclusion I had was that I didn't want to see another team win. It's not a nice feeling when you catch a glimpse of yourself from an unflattering angle. Petty jealousies aside, I doubt I'll be turning the TV off this weekend. Both games offer plenty of intrigue. Can Fremantle do what most pundits expect and waltz into the first grand final in the club's history? Can Sydney reclaim the throne? I cannot think of another club as good as the Swans that have been written off as often as them.

But I have to admit, I am salivating at the prospect of Geelong and Hawthorn this Friday night. Ali versus Frazier was great, but they didn't do it 13 times. I am reminded of the famous line from Ali deep into the final rounds of one of those titanic struggles: ''This is what it must feel like to die.'' Make no mistake, the Hawks and Cats will go the distance. The winners get to put on their special shoes. The big dance awaits.